The Shadow Soul (A Dance of Dragons) Read online

  "Do you have a place like that?"

  Jinji closed her eyes tight, fighting back the water gathering there.

  The clearing.

  The meadow.

  It used to be her spot, but all she saw now was Leoa, tying her braid, pulling over her joining dress. Both of them giggling, completely ignorant to the cries of their people, to the children and the women, to the warriors, to her parents. Even to Maniuk, singled out by the shadow for his strength and his skill—used and discarded.

  All she heard now was the blood-curdling scream that cracked her spirit in half, the pounding of her footsteps, the soft thud of a body as it fell to the ground.

  "No," was all she said. No, she didn’t have a safe place like that, not anymore.

  "It will get better," Rhen said. Jinji wouldn’t look at him, but instead focused on the far away horizon. "I know it doesn’t seem like it, but it will."

  He took a deep breath, cracked his knuckles. Jinji almost heard the words waiting on his lips, could feel them press against his tongue wanting to come out. The air was static, electric from his pounding heart, his pulsing nerves.

  And then it all stopped.

  Silence.

  "I had a younger brother once," Rhen confessed, his words heavy with an emotion that was mirrored by Jinji's wounded soul. "He was barely a year old when he was murdered by the man my father trusted most in the world. And I could have stopped it, if I had only understood what—" His voice shook, wavered on an edge. "I found papers that held evidence the murder was going to take place, but I was too young to understand what they meant, too naïve to know what I had found. And for that, my brother paid the price." He turned, met her stare with eyes a deep dark green, like the forest at twilight. "I know what it means to lose someone, but I also know that though the pain will never fully fade, eventually you will be able to endure it."

  Jinji didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing at all. Silence was the better option. Silence let the words sink in, let their truth ring, let her realize that Rhen had allowed her a peek at a place within himself that he didn’t show to everyone—that he did not even show to most people.

  Jinji opened her mouth, aching to tell her own story, but her throat closed up, stealing the sound from her voice.

  She trusted him, after all he had done for her, Jinji trusted Rhen. But trusting someone was one thing, and opening herself up to him, making herself vulnerable to be hurt again, that was something else entirely. Rhen might have been willing, but it was only because he didn’t know that in the end, he would just be wounded—by her lie if he ever found out the truth or by her leaving without a word of goodbye.

  And Jinji couldn’t handle any more pain.

  "Thank you," she said quietly, instantly regretting it. Rhen blinked once, but once was all it took for his gaze to unglaze and his features to retreat, to harden. One blink was all it took for him to shut himself off again.

  She looked out over the water, the small space of the crow's nest suddenly crunching in on her, suffocating her.

  In her panic, she almost missed the unusual color on the horizon, the black speck that seemed to grow larger in her vision. But her brain registered what her heart did not, and before she realized it, Jinji was leaning forward, asking, "What's that?"

  Rhen followed, his features popping in shock when he locked in on the speck. "A ship," he said and grinned, standing instantly.

  "Captain!" He shouted down toward the deck. Having caught several people's attention, he pointed. "A ship off the starboard side."

  Captain Pygott immediately pulled a long brass tube from his vest, extending it, holding it to his eye.

  "I don’t see any colors," He yelled back up toward them. Jinji watched Rhen's grin spread wider. His fingers tapped his leg energetically.

  "Let's take a closer look, shall we?"

  The captain nodded.

  Rhen swung his leg over the railing, moving to leave the crow's nest and Jinji behind. All notions of sadness had fled his gaze, replaced by pure adrenaline. Jinji began to stand but Rhen shook his head.

  "Stay here, Jin. It'll be safer, just in case."

  "In case of what?" She asked.

  He grinned.

  "Attack."

  And with that, he was gone, slipping down the ropes faster than her eyes could follow, landing with a thud on the deck as he charged Captain Pygott, demanding a look through his metal device.

  Jinji looked out toward the ship again, and the spirits flung into her view, filling her head with a somewhat crazy idea. She looked down at her hands—were they up for the task?

  It would be a larger illusion than any she had woven before.

  But, she paused, looking down to the deck once more. Jinji owed it to him to try. She owed it to all of them.

  Her secret way of thanking Rhen for the moment of peace, for the first moment of true companionship she had felt in a while, for the memory.

  Jinji cupped her hands in her lap, thinking of the mother spirits, of jinjiajanu, preparing herself for the weave.

  And without her realizing, Jinji's fingers began to glow.

  8

  RHEN

  ~ OPEN OCEAN ~

  Thank the gods for unflagged ships, Rhen thought as he stared through the telescope, searching for some sign of coloring on those distant masts.

  Why had he told the boy so much? The words had just spilled out, uncontrollable. He hadn't spoken of little Whyllysle in years, to anyone, his family let alone his friends.

  But even after burying it in the back of his mind, the memory came to life just as clearly as if it had happened yesterday.

  Rhen, seven years old, searching through the old spymaster's papers as he usually did, barely able to read them but able to read them just enough. The year before, when he had been locked away in his room for misbehavior, Rhen had discovered the secret passage behind his bed, the one that led directly to the master's office. He was just able to sneak through, just small enough to fit under his bed, and a year later, he was still snooping around.

  But this had been different, now he had a younger brother to take care of—one he would treat far better than his own older brothers had treated him. And part of taking care of him was making sure Rhen knew everything that was going on.

  Hours and hours of looking through parchments and Rhen had never found a thing—until one night, when he found his brother's name scribbled in the margins of a sealed letter. Whyllysle. Immediately, Rhen had stolen the paper, folded it, and tucked it into his shirt before scurrying back to his room. He read as much as he could, picking out words like queen and king and most importantly, poison. But he didn’t really understand, and he definitely didn't know what to do. Show it to his father and risk being punished? Or pretend he had never found it in the first place?

  What Rhen didn't realize at the time was that there were no options. He had been too late either way.

  Not even an hour later, word spread like wildfire through the castle—the youngest prince was dead. The king, like a madman, demanded information. And Rhen, not knowing what he held, gave the parchment to his father, waiting for the blow to his head for stealing another person's things.

  Instead of a blow, the king disappeared. A day later, the spymaster was hung for treason and the entire castle dropped into a deep despair.

  And this was the part Rhen had never told anyone, the part he had almost spilled but was able to keep secret. Eventually, Rhen did understand what the papers had held—they had named the fourth heir to the throne a babe born out of infidelity, the queen's bastard, not the blood of Whyl. For that, an innocent child paid the price. The spymaster, rather than admit what he had found, poisoned the boy in his sleep, hoping the king would never understand, hoping that it would turn into an unsolved mystery allowed to linger.

  Clearly, he had been wrong.

  King Whylfrick was a proud man—he never said a word to his sons and never to the queen that Rhen could tell. It was a secret between the t
wo of them; one he wasn't sure his father even realized they shared.

  But sometimes when he caught his father's gaze, Rhen was sure the king knew. Deep down in his green eyes, so like his son's, there was a speck of resentment, a glimmer of unspoken rage, and Rhen could think of no other cause.

  Which was why he remained silent—was why Rhen would never tell a soul—not even a small boy who had no one in the world he could tell.

  And maybe that, Rhen realized, was why he had allowed himself one moment of vulnerability with Jin. The boy had no one—no political motivations, no idea of what it meant for a prince to be indebted to him. For the first time, Rhen had someone other than his two brothers he could be honest with, could show his real self to.

  But that wasn't quite true, no matter how much he hoped it was.

  Rhen thought of the snoring comment. A lighthearted story, a good laugh—but also so much more, a little tale that could wreck a reputation.

  Jin's innocence was his appeal and his danger—he could break Rhen's hard work without even realizing it.

  He could destroy it all.

  "See anything, Prince Whylrhen?"

  Rhen dropped the telescope—he had stopped scanning the waters a few minutes ago.

  "No flags."

  A child-like glow burned in the captain's eyes.

  "Attack?" He asked.

  "Your call, old friend," Rhen replied, nodding his head. Rhen might be leading this expedition, but he trusted the captain. What very few knew, no one outside of this ship, was that the two of them had made an arrangement. When Rhen officially earned his knighthood, he commissioned Pygott as the first member of his spy network—his own personal captain.

  That was the reason Pygott had left the crown. Not for the queen, a ridiculous rumor. But because Rhen had always been like a son to him, the son he and his wife could never have, and he could not say no.

  But at times like this, looking at the fast approaching ship, Rhen understood what the captain had given up.

  He loved a good fight.

  And he was about to get one.

  "Archers!" The captain yelled. Immediately, the crew stopped in place. Even the air seemed to still.

  Then chaos—organized, as these men all knew their places.

  Six of the crew ran to the bow of the ship, opening a chest that held their weapons, searching for nicks in the wood and stretching out horsehairs that had been hardened by the salt air.

  Six more men ran down below deck, readying the anchored crossbows—three two-man machines that fired a spiked anchor into the hull of another ship, latching it to the Old Maid to enable boarding.

  And Rhen, along with the remaining crew, readied for hand-to-hand combat, field battle on the water.

  He pulled his sword from the scabbard strapped to his hip, swinging it in a wide arc over his head, stretching his shoulders and loosening up. His body felt light without the heavy armor of a knight, armor that was too arduous for travel. He would just have to be good enough to not get hurt.

  "Prince." One of the sailors approached, holding a shield. It was wooden, the length of half of his body and unpainted. Deep holes already punctured the surface, blows from arrows in previous fights, but it would do well enough.

  "Thank you, Geoff," Rhen said, pulling his arm through the strap on the back, his bicep straining under the weight. The man's eyes lit up, surprised and thankful for the recognition. Rhen nodded once more, releasing him, and Geoff circled back to the captain brandishing more weapons.

  It was odd, Rhen realized as he stood there, so odd to be waiting on foot without Ember's strong body to hold him aloft. But it was better this way, better she was safe with Cal in the castle stables than at risk on the water. Even if he would pay for it when they reunited in Rayfort, Rhen smiled, picturing the moment. Leaving Ember was never easy, even when it was for her own good, but trying to get back in her good graces would be pure torture.

  He looked back to the horizon where the ship was quickly becoming more visible. The center mast held no flag, no identifying marker as were the rules of sea travel. Each ship must have the flag of its kingdom and the flag of its city or occupation. Looking up, Rhen took note of the flags on this ship—the brilliant red flag of Whylkin decorated with a deep black rearing stallion, the great horse of Whyl the Conqueror that was said to be twice as large as any that had been born since. Below it, the flag of a merchant, a blue canvas split diagonally down the center with a white stripe and the image of a ship's wheel.

  Below that, Rhen caught sight of Jin standing with his hands outstretched, pointing to the sea, silhouetted by the sun. His fingers seemed to almost glow against the clouds—impossible. But, Rhen squinted, can that truly be just the sun?

  He stepped forward.

  Why was the boy holding his hands like that? They moved in circles, in some sort of dance, fingers twisting in and out of one another.

  "Prince Whylrhen," Captain Pygott said from behind Rhen.

  He didn’t want to look away.

  Something was happening—something the boy had been hiding.

  Some might think it crazy, but Rhen lived and breathed magic—was it even possible the boy did too?

  Or—Rhen paused, taking a moment to slow his racing mind—he could be praying, practicing some Arpapajo ritual that he, a newworlder, knew nothing about…

  Rhen turned, facing the captain and forgetting about Jin—there were more pressing matters.

  "We engage on your command," the old man said, bowing his head. Rhen balled his hands into fists, looking back out toward the ship now twice the size it had been moments before.

  "As soon as it is within distance," Rhen said, "make the call."

  The captain nodded, moving back to the stern, standing at his proper place behind the helm. And Rhen turned, standing with the other soldiers, just waiting and watching as the enemy neared. All of them fidgeted, anxious and excited, too much electricity for their bodies to contain.

  His feet held firm, but even Rhen couldn't stop the ticking of his fingers on the hilt of his sword, over and over, in a subconscious pattern he had been using since his time as a squire.

  When the ship was so close that Rhen could begin to make out the men on board, Captain Pygott raised his voice.

  "Ready!"

  Rhen flexed the muscles in his hands, tightening and loosening his hold on both sword and shield.

  "Aim!"

  He held his breath.

  But before the word fire could leave the captain's lips, a flight of arrows from the other ship flew over the water, fast approaching. Rhen lifted his shield, waiting for the thunk of metal on wood, but instead he heard the pattering of splashes.

  He looked up, catching sight of the amazed gazes beside him.

  The other ship had missed—their arrows sailing at least thirty feet to the right of the ship.

  "Fire!" Pygott yelled and the archers stood from behind the protective wood at the bow of the ship to launch their own set of arrows.

  A hit.

  Five arrows landed directly on target.

  And with that, the battle had begun. Without needing orders, the archers continued to launch wave after wave, sending blankets of arrows onto the opposing ship. The enemy continued to misfire, landing set after set of arrows into the sea, almost as though they believed the Old Maid was fifty feet to the right of where it actually stood. Either the wind was being unusually favorable, or…

  Rhen shot a quick glance up at Jin, whose hands still danced before his face, a face that spoke of intense concentration.

  He scrunched his brows, smelling a secret, sour taste on the wind. But now was not the time.

  Screams ripped through the air. The opposing ship was in turmoil, and it was still early in the fight. The Old Maid remained untouched, unscathed.

  "Petore," the captain called. A man beside Rhen turned around. "Send word downstairs to prepare the crossbows!"

  He dashed away.

  Rhen focused ahead. The other shi
p was not two-lengths away, the men aboard were in complete madness. Even at such a length, Rhen could see soldiers running from side to side, looking every which way, confused and terrified, shocked each time a new volley of arrows landed on top of them.

  One length away.

  Suddenly, a shout went up, ringing in Rhen's ears as the remaining soldiers on the enemy deck turned on their heels. Like one, they moved in a wave across their ship, to their starboard side, looking at the Old Maid with shock and horror written across their faces.

  Rhen heard the harsh, guttural sound of Ourthuri words being screamed, too soft to make out but loud enough to cause Rhen to lift his sword.

  He had been right.

  It was the Ourthuri driving unmanned ships.

  It was the Ourthuri preparing for war.

  In one moment, Rhen felt totally vindicated, totally satisfied in all of the lies he had been spouting over the years, all of the secrets he had found and kept.

  For once, his hunch had paid off. For once, his spying had done the trick.

  And then the ship was right beside them.

  "Steady!" The captain called. But the men all knew what to wait for.

  In an excruciatingly long pause, both ships seemed to stop, as though time had ceased to exist, halting on a note of pure anticipation.

  Wind pushed against flapping sails, but nothing else moved.

  Almost afraid to avert his eyes, Rhen continued to look ahead, meeting the terrified stare of an Ourthuri soldier as the enemy ship pulled perfectly parallel to theirs. The man's eyes were almost black in the daylight. His skin was hardened, tough like leather, dark brown with the hint of green.

  Whipping chains blasted through the air, ripping through the silence. The crash of splintering wood followed, and it could only mean one thing—the anchors had been loosed. Brown chips exploded into the sky, raining down on both decks, splashing into the water, smacking into the sails.

  A second later, the chink of a crank hit Rhen's ear, and the Ourthuri ship began to move against the tide, unnaturally closer to the Old Maid. Ten clicks later and boom, wood slammed into wood.